


Pink Sunrise Mourning

by TheForestUnderQuarantine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura will be revived, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), F/F, F/M, Farmer Lance (Voltron), Garrison Instructor Lance, Happily married Shiro raking it in on that contract work, M/M, Mourning, Past Character Death, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, kaltenecker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForestUnderQuarantine/pseuds/TheForestUnderQuarantine
Summary: "Three a.m. is the hour at which the body’s pain is simultaneously most felt and most blunted. Nobody feels time more than when first waking at an early hour, regardless of the years of routinely doing it. Eyes open to regret, foggy mind pulled from sleep’s gentle hold. She still speaks to him in dreams, a hand curled around her laughter, eyes determined and in no need of saving, but the words are distorted and unable to be recalled upon waking. The pink of mourning is there, peaking between the bruised clouds of sunrise."After the war, Lance is haunted by appirations of Allura. The Princess is calling to him, & he can't get regret out of his head.  His family is worried. Keith is worried. Heck, when he's not hitting the Nunvil with Romelle & Coran even he is worried about himself. But what if those apparitions are trying to tell him something?What if Allura is still alive?





	Pink Sunrise Mourning

Three a.m. is the hour at which the body’s pain is simultaneously most felt and most blunted. Nobody feels time more than when first waking at an early hour, regardless of the years of routinely doing it. Eyes open to regret, foggy mind pulled from sleep’s gentle hold. She still speaks to him in dreams, a hand curled around her laughter, eyes determined and in no need of saving, but the words are distorted and unable to be recalled upon waking. The pink of mourning is there, peaking between the bruised clouds of sunrise. 

Lance rubs his eyes, careful to avoid the uncannily smoother skin below his eyes at first, touching them only when he feels ready to face the presence of her loss again. And when the crusty rheum is gone. He isn’t going to get any of that on his marks. Today is going to be a long one. He can feel it in the callouses on his palms. The weight in his shoulders sore from toil and years of recoil. The air is frosty against the pores around his nose. He stretches, taking his time to feel every pop in his joints and along his ribs. 

The Juniberry flower has wilted in its vase. He’ll need to replace it with a fresh one from the fields, but for now he’s enjoying its heady scent. It fills the room the most when it’s looking sad. Something about the way the chemicals break down on the petals. He makes his way to the kitchen. Today is a blue lion slipper day. They’re tattered with time and mothballs, but it’s nice to look down and see Blue. It was their lion, but first and foremost Blue was an incredible friend. He misses huddling around her console, content as a child in the womb, plotting out strategies for missions that were never used. The rumble of her laughter in his mind at his ‘pew pews’ not so much mockery as encouraging. 

He got it with Red to an extent, but Red lacked the hard-done-by mother vibe he’d needed starting out. He would pace around his mind and play like it was a cage full of enrichment, but with an undercurrent of wanting more from him. Red wouldn’t be happy padding around Lance’s room on a cold morning. He was happiest when he took initiative and acted as the right hand. Sulking when Lance isolated himself to video games and pacing the halls under Shiro’s clone. 

He paused in his morning ritual, mid-spit of his tooth-paste. He felt regret thinking back to the clone. The agony on his face as his mind was over-ridden by Haggar. Looking to Lance as if there was something he could possibly do.

He had to hold onto the sink as nausea overrode him. There was happiness in his past, yet his mind seemed to dwell on his many, many failures as a Paladin. Even in his memories, when he wasn’t mentally hamming it up and placing himself as the hero Keith would aspire to catch up to and Allura would look twice at, he was off to the side. A seventh wheel.  
He looked to the creams and packets of facemasks on the sink, there for old time’s sake. No skincare routine today. 

***

The last time he had spoken to Keith, a late-night communication for the both of them several galaxies apart on an intercom system that even with Pidge’s genius was patchy on the best of nights, he’d brought up these thoughts. It was the first time since being in Keith’s room all those years ago—was it a really a decade now?—going to step aside for the good of the team. 

He may have had a few too many glasses of disgusting Nunvil, an impromptu visit from Coran who ‘just so happened to be in star system’ leading to teary conversations and vulnerability he stupidly carried over to his conversations with his former rival.

Even in the glitchy, word-losing, face-pixelating transmission, he could see Keith’s surprise. The furrow of those dark brows. The depths of his eyes moving from confusion to devastation and then back again. 

Keith’s “was that what you were feeling when Shiro reappeared” came through delayed, clashing with Lance’s attempt to change the subject. Lance’s laughter was reedy and hollow even to his own ears. Keith had that intense look that Kosmo had when hunting. That focused, steady, unstoppable energy. 

“Lance, if I ever made you feel that way—

“It wasn’t you,” he’d said, shaking his head. “Not just you anyway. It was always kind of there, but I just really started feeling it when you were with the Blades. Team Punk were doing there thing. You were off space-ninja-ing. Not-Shiro was brooding—it was strange, he acted like an even angstier, sticking to the shadows version of you. But I get it, head-aches and mind-control and all. And of course, Allura was working with Lotor.”

He’d paused. “It’s funny. I absolutely hated him and couldn’t trust him, but I wish my jealous gut hadn’t been right. He’d made Allura happy. I never was quite able to get that delighted, jumping-off-her-seat look in her eyes. I think—I wish I’d been a better friend to her. Both then, and after. She needed a friend.”

Keith was quiet. He was rash, but when he listened, he took the time to process what was said as best as he could. These days, anyway. The only hint that he had been affected and was still listening was the subtle clench of his hand against his thigh. His eyes looked down, away from his own. “I think you both did. I didn’t know it was ever that bad. I needed to leave. For myself and for—so many reasons. But I wish I knew you felt that way.”

Lance couldn’t help but tease. “That I was missing my space ranger partner?”

Keith scoffed. “Something like that.”

Silence was strange over an intercom. Stranger still, that it was never awkward. Keith spoke in pauses followed by the most blunt and brash of phrases. Now that Lance no longer took his silence for antagonism, and bluntness as a personal slight, he looked forward to it. The comfortable calm. Unvoiced mutual respect. 

He had smiled at Keith. Talked of nonsensical, unimportant things after that. Whether or not exposure to Slav had triggered Shiro to sport even more grey hairs. If they could out-program Pidge and make Chip say ‘Are you my mummy’ in a creepy demonic doll way. If Matt’s singed hair had grown since last time, as short hair just did not suit his facial features (Lance was sorry for saying the truth). He could still see Keith churning over what he had to say by the vaguely constipated line of his mouth, but he still smiled at the appropriate moments. 

“Did you know your sister is dating Acxa?”

“What the cheese, Rachel is dating Acxa?! When did this happen?” Lance imitated Edvard Munch’s The Scream before cackling. “Of course I knew ‘Ronnie was dating Acx. They’ve been sweet on each other for years.”

Keith looked down at his lap, contrite. “I only found out a few weeks ago. She’s heading over your way for some time off.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you taking any time off? I swear, outside of celebrating Allu—” he choked up. Stopped himself from ruining the mood. “Outside of catching up with us you do nothing but work, work, work. That’s, what, one day a year? Ten days in a decade? Your humanitarian—galratarian? Marmoratarian?—work is so important, but so are you.”

“I took a month off with the flu,” Keith defended himself. Badly.

“See? Your fading away! What about the parties? Celebrating the rest of your youth? The love? The kinky sex? I’m telling you, dude, you’re missing out. And alas, you’ll almost wither away into thirty soon, the best of your years well past you.”

“So are you,” Keith sniped.

Lance waved him off. “Please, we all know I peaked as a Paladin. Can’t even play up how cool my job is because no one wants to hear about crop rotation and birthing calves—which, by the way, Kaltenecker Jnr is very happy and healthy. And Kaltenecker’s still going strong. Bit shaky on her legs these days, but we’re very happy together still and the old girl still has many years left.”

Keith pinched between his brows, face gathering red. “And so do you. How can you sit back and lecture me when—

“Do as I say, not as I do. Gotta live vicariously through your earth-shaking, bodice-ripping awesome life, you hear?”

Keith snorted. “Are you joking?”

Lance had never seen such a soft expression on his face. The phrasing took him back, but he wasn’t sure from when. He puffed up his chest, loose blue pyjamas straining. Committing to character. “Always.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but that soft fondness never left.

Then the silence was slightly less comfortable. Lance wasn’t sure why, but that expression—Keith all warm galaxy eyes and crooked grin—made heat creep up his face and around the tips of his ears.

Again, he overcompensated with excitement. “Hey. Why don’t you come stay on the farm for a bit? Come with Acxa.”

Keith fumbled, looking anywhere but his eyes. “She’s a senior member of the Blades, absolutely integral to running our operations. We can’t lose any more at the moment, our resource distribution efficiency would drop. We’d be putting hungry lives at risk. I can’t do that, Lance.” He finished on a firm note, with a prompt nod, as if trying to convince himself.

Lance had to do it. ‘Ronnie and Rach’ would call him emotionally manipulative. Selfish, even. But he had to make sure Keith took a break, damnit! So, he took a tool from his arsenal, guaranteed to hit the target every time: his patented Lance McClain puppy dog eyes. 

“How about after?”

Keith hadn’t stood a chance.

***

Now, realising the extent of preparation work needed for both the farm, and Keith’s living arrangements, for his friend’s arrival, Lance was almost regretting his insistence. Already, the pain in his back was flaring up. Even with a healing pod, the scars had never quite healed right. On days like today, he usually had Marco or his mother apply healing ointment to his back. Sometimes he’d sit up, looking towards the lion plushie in the corner of the room. But most days he’d be less present. Less able to hold himself up. He’d lay, facedown on the pillow, unable to register his mother so lovingly trace the numbing agent between his shoulder blades. None of his family were around, having gone off to celebrate Veronica’s latest commendation at the Garrison. He wouldn’t risk that level of vulnerability with any one of the sessional workers at the farm.

He looked down at the time and date Keith had said he’d be over, double checking and triple checking, before checking over the amount of food stock his suppliers had requested for the week. There had been a case of potato rot that was thankfully over, so the numbers should thankfully be met.

Kalternecker and her son mooed in the distance. Lance smiled. Raised his hand over his mouth to moo back to his long-time companions. The sound was carried by the wind as he stood and stretched on his front porch. The backwind nuzzled at his sore back, pushing a little. If he closed his eyes, it felt like he was flying.

Maybe Keith would be able to help him with his back.


End file.
